A Second to Decide
by psyscaper
Summary: A member of Team One has a second to decide what to do in a dangerous situation and then must learn to live with it. Changing the rating to T due to violence just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned any part of Flashpoint, much to my eternal disappointment. I am merely borrowing these characters and promise to return them in reasonably good working order when I'm done.

**Author's Note**: Yet another Spike story for your reading pleasure, because 1) he's my favorite Flashpoint character and 2) there still aren't enough Spike stories here. As with all of my stories, this has not been beta'd and all mistakes are my own. My goal is to make this read like an episode, so it might jump around a bit. You'll have to let me know how successful I am with that. Enjoy and, as always, please read and review. Thanks - _**Psy**_

Officer Michelangelo "Spike" Scarlatti stepped carefully around the metal drums and containers lining the light industrial lot, the tac light on his MP5 the only thing keeping him from bumping into them or tripping over anything else in his way. He fanned the light back and forth ahead and to both sides keeping a watchful eye out for the subjects. Spike could hear his teammate, Raf, moving stealthily behind him and occasionally the light from Raf's MP5 would catch the corner of his eye as Raf did the same.

As they approached the back third of the property, a motion sensing light suddenly came on overhead, illuminating the near corner of an outbuilding. Spike heard a muffled curse and the sound of an empty drum being kicked. Training his rifle in the direction of the noise, he called out.

"Police! SRU! Get down on the ground! Do it now!"

Two figures, one about 5-foot-10 and 180 pounds, the other about 5-foot-4 and 110 pounds, both wearing dark hoodies, popped up from behind a container about 50 feet ahead. The two subjects ducked back down and scrambled to disappear again into the shadows behind the building. Spike had just started running toward the subjects, Raf just behind and to the right of him, when a couple shots rang out.

As he ran, Spike felt a searing pain high on his left shoulder, his mind barely registering the sound in his headset as he heard Raf report to the rest of the team their location and that they had taken fire. The pain grew as he heard his team leader respond, ordering the rest of the team to converge from different directions.

"Ahh," Spike groaned as he took cover behind a drum. His arm was already starting to go numb and he wondered how long he would be able to continue holding up his MP5 with it. His breath was becoming somewhat labored as well. He took a few seconds to concentrate on his breathing, slowing it down as the team's snipers had taught him in their cross-training sessions.

"Spike!" hissed Raf, "You okay?" He reached his teammate and placed a hand on the man's good shoulder. Pulling out his flashlight, he quickly assessed the injury.

"Kira," he spoke to the SRU dispatcher, "we're going to need EMS here."

"Raf?" team leader Ed Lane growled.

"Spike's been hit," replied Raf. "Left shoulder. Looks like the bullet just missed his vest. Doesn't look like it hit the artery though."

Spike shook his head, still trying to control his breathing. "I'm good," he assured his team. "Let's get these guys." He stood and started to move around the drums.

"_All right, Team One, stay sharp!_" Ed's voice came through the comm link again.

Spike and Raf carefully made their way around the back corner of the building. They cleared the area between the building and the back fence as quickly and quietly as they could. As they approached the other side of the building, they both caught another glimpse of the two hooded subjects under another security light. They ran toward the subjects, their rifles trained on their prey. They shouted, once again ordering the two subjects to put their weapons down and get on the ground. Instead of complying, however, they two figures kept running. As they turned the corner of the building, the shorter one looked back, simultaneously raising his arm and revealing a black metal handgun.

_**2 Hours Earlier**_

Cliff Collins paced back and forth across the worn out carpet of the small apartment he shared with his mom and little brother. He held a cell phone to his ear, listening to it ring endlessly before finally giving up and ending the call. He stood in the middle of the room staring up at the ceiling.

"This is great," he muttered defeatedly, "this is just great! D gonna kill me!"

On the couch, his little brother sat playing a video game. "Why?" he asked without looking up.

"Dude! They just repo'd ma's car!"

"Yeah? What that got to do wit' D?"

Cliff shook his head. "Dude! D's dope was in the car! I was gonna take it to him after moms went to sleep.

"He gonna kill me I don't get it back!" He grabbed the repo notice from the table and read it through again.

"Says here the repo company's in Yorkdale. I know where that is." He went into the bedroom he and his brother shared and came back out a couple of minutes later. In his right hand he held a semi-automatic pistol and in the left a fully loaded magazine. He shoved the magazine into the handle of the gun and pulled the slide back to load the chamber. Grabbing a black hoodie from the back of a chair, he put it on, zipped it up and slid the gun into a pocket. He started for the door, but stopped when his brother paused his video game and jumped up to follow him.

"Petey, what the hell you doin'?"

"Comin' witchoo," his brother responded, grabbing his hoodie from the couch and turning off the TV.

"Oh, hell no you ain't!" Cliff argued.

His brother was defiant, though. "Come on, man," he implored. "Mom's asleep and you never know, you might need backup!" He reached into one of his pockets and started to pull out his gun.

Cliff just shook his head. "Yeah, right," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "like that's gonna stop anyone!" He stared at his little brother for a minute before relenting. He never could say no to the kid and besides, when he was Petey's age, he was already a member of D's crew.

"Okay, fine," he said, "but, you keep behind me and don't e'en thinka pullin' 'at stupid thing out a'ight?"

"A'ight," shrugged Petey and the two of them quietly headed out of the apartment.

They walked a couple of blocks north before they found an unlocked car. Cliff easily broke the ignition from the steering column and quickly hotwired the sedan. They jumped in and Cliff started driving across town. He took surface streets and did his best to stay under the radar of any patrolling cops. It didn't take that long, no more than half an hour, to get to the Yorkdale area, but they had to drive around for nearly an hour more before they found what they were looking for.

Turning off the headlights and throwing the car in neutral, Cliff let the car coast to a stop across the street from the nondescript building. He was sure this was the place. He turned off the engine and they sat in the car for several minutes just watching the door.

"Man, what're we waiting for?" asked Petey. Now that they were here, he was starting to get nervous. "Let's just get in there, get your stuff and get outta here."

Cliff didn't move or take his eyes off the building. "Naw," he said, "we gotta make sure there's nobody watchin'."

After watching and waiting for about ten minutes, Cliff finally sat up straight. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and checked the magazine and chamber again before putting it back, shanking his head as Petey mimicked his movements with his own 'piece.' Then they got out, quietly closing the car doors and made their way to the side of the building. There was room for maybe two or three cars to park in front of the building and a driveway that ran beside it on the right that was blocked by a large chain-link gate that was chained and padlocked. At the top of the gate was a roll of barbed wire to discourage anyone entertaining any ideas of climbing it. A cement block wall about six feet tall separated the drive from the property next door. Cliff took a flashlight from the left pocket of his hoodie and shined the light down the side of the building. Not seeing a car that looked like his mothers, he walked around to the property next door and started walking along the cement wall, looking for a way over it. About halfway down, he found a small picnic table near a door in the side of the building to his right.

"Petey, give me a hand," he said as he lifted one end of table and started dragging it over to the wall. His brother quickly complied and before long, they had jumped the wall and had begun scouring the repo yard for their mother's car.

Sergeant Greg Parker sat at the head of the table in the SRU briefing room, a number of file folders and forms spread out before him. He dutifully filled out a form, signed it and placed it in a folder before reaching for another one. He sighed heavily. While he enjoyed having a quiet night shift for a change, he hated all the paperwork that went with it. Of course, it was the fact that this was their first quiet shift in several weeks that had caused the avalanche of paperwork he now faced.

"Come on, Greg," he heard his second in command, Team One's tactical leader Ed Lane as he walked purposefully into the briefing room. "You've been at that for over an hour now. You need a break!"

Ed reached over Greg's shoulder and forcibly removed the pen from his superior officer's hand, setting it down and taking a step back to allow the other man to stand up.

"Eddie," Greg shook his head, though he couldn't help the small grin spreading across his face. "You know if I don't get this done now, it'll never get done!" He looked up at his friend, his grin spreading wider at the stern look on Ed's face.

Ed nodded. "Yeah and you know what, Greg?" he asked, "Even if you get it all done tonight, there'll still be more to do tomorrow. Let's go."

With a chuckle, Greg pushed the chair back and slowly rose to his feet. "Okay, Eddie," he said, "what've you got in store for me tonight?"

The two men walked out of the briefing room, nodding to the dispatcher as they passed by. Ed slapped his friend on the back and grinned. "Sam and Jules, head to head in the indoor training range. Spike's cooking up something special for them."

Thirty minutes later the team stood in the hallway outside the training range. Sam had his arm around Jules consoling her as Spike counted up the money he'd made on his bets and Raf just shook his head. He whispered something in her ear prompting her to elbow him in the ribs.

"Jules," Raf said, "I really thought you had him, right up until the last target."

Spike grinned over at his teammate. "No way, Raf," he argued. "It was Samtastic all the way!" He and Sam a triumphant fist bump.

He turned to his team leader and sergeant. "Maybe Jules should take the Sierra position a little more so she can get her shooting rhythm back," he smiled.

"We'll take that under advisement, Spike," Greg smiled. He took a breath, but before he could say anything else, the familiar sound of the alert system and Kira Marlowe's voice flooded the station's PA system.

_Team One gear up, Hot Call; shots fired 138 Bentworth, North York. A security guard was shot and killed. North York PD responded and a uniformed officer was shot one block north at 124 Cartwright._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own anything, darn it all!

**Author's Note**: Thanks to everyone for reading and especially to Autumnsonlyone, AuntMingy, SharonS, rgs38 and BlindAlley05 for reviewing!

So, I woke up yesterday morning with the first migraine of the New Year (and, no, it wasn't a hangover since the only alcohol we had on hand is a wine cooler so old I don't even remember buying it!) and I realized I messed up last chapter. I had already written the scene after the security guard was shot and up until the uni was shot and had planned to start this chapter with it. I probably should have included it before the hot call came in to the SRU. I'm going to have to backtrack a bit to get it in. Hopefully, it won't skew the episodic feel to the story too much. My apologies if it does. Oh, and virtual cookies to anyone who recognizes the episode this story's title came from!

* * *

><p>"Petey! Come on! We gotta get outta here!"<p>

The young man skipped sideways a few steps, gesturing wildly with an open hand at the smaller teen still standing by the vehicle several feet behind him. He was dressed in a dark hoodie, t-shirt and baggy jeans, the waistline of which sagged almost off his heavyset behind and revealed dark blue plaid boxers. In his other hand, he held a large, black handgun that he had just fired at the unlucky security guard who had interrupted them.

The voice of the older teen shook Petey out of his trance. He was about six inches shorter and 70 pounds lighter; he had no problem catching up and taking the lead as the two jumped up onto a car parked along the fence that stretched across the back of the repo yard. They hopped that fence, jumping into the property behind the yard and quickly ran across the darkened lot, trying to keep to the shadows before hopping another fence as they tried to put distance between themselves and the injured man. They could hear sirens in the distance and they grew louder and closer as the two ran through the industrial area.

After moving eastward for a couple of lots, they turned north again down a narrow drive between two businesses. As they approached the front of the buildings, they crouched down in the shadows, backs pressed against the building to their right. The structure itself was set back from the curb a few feet more than the building next to it. Cliff carefully peered around the corner of the building looking to his right for any sign of police activity. When he saw the coast was clear that way he gestured to his little brother and they moved quickly to cross the street. Just as the stepped into the street, however, a police cruiser with lights flashing rounded the corner to their left. It came to a screeching halt right where the two teens had been standing before they took off across the street.

The police officer jumped out of the cruiser and chased after them down the driveway beside a warehouse. He slowed as he approached a semi-trailer parked alongside the building and drew his weapon. Speaking softly into the radio on his shoulder, he relayed his location to his dispatcher before grabbing his sidearm with both hands, holding it out in front of himself at a 45-degree downward angle. He flicked on the tactical light attached to his sidearm and checked underneath the trailer as far as he could before moving to stand almost with his back to it at the corner closest to the building. He quickly swung around with his weapon raised in front to look down the space between the trailer and the wall. Not seeing anything, he moved to the other corner and repeated the sweep on the other side. Satisfied that the gunmen weren't lying in wait for him just yet, he carefully made his way along the driveway side of the trailer, keeping as close to it as possible. As he approached the front of the trailer, he again paused at the corner and prepared to sweep the light across the front. Once again, he found no immediate threat and he stepped in front of the trailer, preparing to cross over to the warehouse wall again.

Suddenly, two gunshots rang out and the officer staggered as he felt a round hit his upper left thigh and another hit the left side of his Kevlar vest. He stumbled for cover between the trailer and the warehouse, radioing in once he'd made it that he'd been shot.

"10-33; shots fired; I've been hit. Repeat – 10-33; officer down; 124 Cartwright."

When the officer failed to return fire, Cliff motioned to is brother to keep moving. It would only be a matter of time before the police had the area cordoned off. The two kept moving west and north, zigzagging their way through the lots and around the businesses. They were putting distance between themselves and the police officer, but they were also moving farther away from their getaway car. Cliff was starting to get nervous. When he'd left the apartment, he hadn't intended to shoot anyone. He'd just grabbed the gun out of habit. The last thing he'd wanted was to get his little brother caught up in something like this.

* * *

><p>Three large black SUVs, police lights blazing and sirens blaring, pulled up in front of the non-descript building, joining the two police cruisers already parked haphazardly. The six officers of the Strategic Response Unit's Team One got out. One of them started walking toward a uniformed officer standing by a police cruiser. The uniformed officer looked up as he approached.<p>

"Sergeant?" he asked as he extended a hand to the SRU officer.

"Greg Parker, SRU. And, you are?"

"Sergeant Bob Davis, North York PD." The two men shook hands.

"What've we got here, Sergeant Davis?" Parker asked as he took in the scene.

"Security guard here at Speedy Repo came across two guys breaking into one of the cars on the lot. He startled them and they came up shooting. EMTs pronounced him DOA when they got here," Davis informed him. He pulled out a map of the area and placed it on the hood of the cruiser. By this time, the rest of the SRU officers had finished prepping their weapons and they now stood around the hood of the cruiser, studying the map.

"We had cruisers block off Bentworth, Cartwright, Caldedonia, Paul David and Bridgeland streets," continued Davis, pointing at each street in succession. "One of our officers spotted the two gunmen here on Cartwright and chased them behind a business. They fired on him and he took a bullet in the leg and one in the vest. At that time, he reported the gunmen on foot moving west. None of our officers have seen them since, so we figure they've still got to be in this area."

Parker nodded, "Okay, we're going to need your officers to remain where they are and keep the area contained," he said. "Anyone sees either of the subjects, they're to report it to us. We'll take the lead in flushing them out."

He turned to his team. "Jules, you're with me. Ed," he looked over at his tactical leader who nodded.

Motioning to Sergeant Davis, he pointed to the map again. "We'll need officers here, here and here. We've got a residential area to the east here; we don't want them doubling back that way.

"Spike, Raf, you start where they were last seen and clear the area moving west, then north, standard grid search pattern." The two junior officers nodded.

"Sam, you're with me," he looked at the blond sniper who also nodded in agreement. "We'll start in the far northwest quadrant and clear east, then south."

"Meet cha in the middle," Spike said. The four officers got back into two of the SUVs and headed out to their assigned starting points.

After clearing several commercial lots with no sightings of the two subjects, the team continued their search. Spike and Raf had cleared all the lots from where their brother in blue had been shot on Cartwright Avenue west all the way to Caledonia before turning north and clearing the lots on the east side of the street. When they got to Bridgeland Avenue, they turned right and started clearing the rest of the block. Each time they cleared a lot they would radio the rest of the team and they heard Ed and Sam doing the same.

As the team searched, they could hear the boss and Jules gathering intel. They had learned that the car the two gunmen had broken into was registered to a Corrine Collins who lived on the southeast side near the CN rail yard and the Gardiner Expressway. Kira had further learned that Corrine Collins had two sons, nineteen-year-old Clifford and thirteen-year-old Peter. She had dispatched a uniformed officer to the Collins home to check on the family.

Spike stepped carefully around Raf, pointing his MP5 down as he did so and bringing it back up when his teammate was no longer in his line of sight. He moved up the next driveway looking for something he could hide behind so he could provide cover allowing Raf to safely move up behind him. Several paces up he found a grouping of metal drums along the fence line. He quickly took a position behind the drums and raised his MP5, sweeping it back and forth in front as Raf moved in behind him. Once Raf was set, Spike jumped up and started moving toward the back of the lot again.

It was nearly pitch black and Spike fanned the light on his MP5 back and forth ahead and to both sides keeping a watchful eye out for the subjects. Spike could hear his teammate, Raf, moving stealthily behind him and occasionally the light from Raf's MP5 would catch the corner of his eye as Raf did the same.

They were nearing the back third of the property when a motion sensing light suddenly came on overhead, illuminating the near corner of an outbuilding. Spike heard a muffled curse and the sound of an empty drum being kicked over. Training his rifle in the direction of the noise, he called out.

"Police! SRU! Get down on the ground! Do it now!"

Spike saw two figures jump up from behind a container about 50 feet ahead of him. Both figures wore dark hoodies, though one was taller and heavier than the other. He saw the two figures quickly duck back down behind the container and heard them scramble back into the shadows as he ran toward their position. He had just started running with Raf just behind and to the right of him when two shots rang out into the night. Almost immediately, Spike felt a searing pain high in his left shoulder. His mind hardly registered the sound in his headset as he heard Raf report their location to the rest of the team and that they were taking fire. The pain grew as he heard his team leader respond, ordering the rest of the team to converge from different directions.

Spike groaned as he took cover behind a drum. His arm was already starting to go numb and he wondered how long he would be able to continue holding up his MP5 with it. His breath was becoming somewhat labored as well. He took a few seconds to concentrate on his breathing, slowing it down as the team's snipers had taught him in their cross-training sessions.

"Spike!" hissed Raf, "You okay?" He reached his teammate and placed a hand on the man's good shoulder. Pulling out his flashlight, he quickly assessed the injury.

"Kira," he spoke to the SRU dispatcher, "we're going to need EMS here."

"Raf?" team leader Ed Lane growled.

"Spike's been hit," replied Raf. "Left shoulder. Looks like the bullet just missed his vest. Doesn't look like it hit the artery though."

Spike shook his head, still trying to control his breathing. "I'm good," he assured his team. "Let's get these guys." He stood and started to move around the drums.

"_All right, Team One, stay sharp!_" Ed's voice came through the comm link again. "_These guys have now shot __**two**__ cops and a security guard!_"

With a nearly inaudible grunt of pain, Spike forced himself to his feet. He continued to focus much of his concentration on his breathing and ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He and Raf carefully made their way around the back corner of the building, clearing the area between the building and the back fence as quickly and quietly as they could. They both caught another glimpse of the two hooded subjects under another security light as they approached the other side of the building. They ran toward the subjects, their rifles trained on the hooded figures. The officers shouted, once again ordering the two men to put their weapons down and get on the ground. Instead of complying, however, the two figures kept running. As they turned the corner of the building, the shorter one looked back, simultaneously raising his arm and revealing a black metal handgun.

This time, he didn't get a chance to fire as two shots quickly rang out and less than half a second later, the subject's body jerked twice before crumpling to the ground.

Scarlatti spoke into his radio mic. "One subject down." He approached the downed gunman cautiously, keeping his MP5 trained on the subject's chest. Upon reaching the young man, he quickly kicked the handgun away from the gunman and motioned with his head for Raf to continue chasing the other subject.

"Go! Go!" he urged his partner who hesitated only a fraction of a second before continuing after the other gunman.

"Still in pursuit of one subject," Raf informed the team.

"Raf," Ed's voice came over the comm link, "what's your twenty?"

"Back lot, 231 Bridgeland." He paused, hearing the distinct sound of someone climbing a chain-link fence. "Make that the lot just east of 231 Bridgeland," he corrected as he ran after the other gunman.

"Sam," Ed ordered, "backup Raf. Spike, I'm coming to you."

"Copy!" both Spike and Sam responded simultaneously.

The shot subject looked up at Spike, his legs kicking futilely, hands trying to cover the gunshot wounds in his chest. After assessing the wounds, Spike moved the tac light up to the subject's face and felt his heart skip a beat. The kid looked to be all of twelve, maybe thirteen.

Spike instantly swung his MP5 over his shoulder as he dropped to his knees beside the kid. Moving the boy's hands, he covered the wounds with his own and, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, applied strong pressure in an effort to stem the blood flow.

"We need EMS here NOW!" Spike nearly yelled into his mic. "Two gunshot wounds to the chest."

He then spoke to the boy, "Come on, kid, stay with me! Stay with me!" The entire team, including Kira in dispatch, could hear the panic in his voice.

"EMS is already on the way," Kira quickly responded. "ETA five minutes." She had never heard Spike react like that on a call and she kept the professional timbre in her voice hoping it would calm him a little.

A couple of minutes later, Spike heard a large vehicle come to a stop, tires sliding on gravel nearby. Hoping it was the EMTs, he was disappointed to see the SRU vehicle. Jules jumped out of the passenger side and came over to him as Greg ran around the front of the SUV. He took in the scene before him as he approached. In the glare of the SUV's headlights, both he and Jules could see the fear in Spike's dark brown eyes as he looked over his shoulder at them. The boy's legs were still kicking, though feebly and infrequently. His eyes were glazed over and a thick sheen of sweat covered his light brown skin. With the amount of blood pooling underneath the boy, Greg knew he probably wouldn't make it. He suspected Spike knew it, too, but couldn't accept it. Spike turned back to the kid, murmuring softly, telling him to hang on and that help was on the way.

"Spike," Jules placed a hand on her teammate's good shoulder, "let me take over," she suggested gently.

When he didn't respond to her, she spoke a little louder. "Spike, you need to get your arm looked at. Let me take over here." She tried to move him away, but he resisted and continued murmuring softly to the injured boy.

Jules looked over at their boss who was now squatting down next to the weapon the boy had been carrying. Greg had taken out his flashlight so he could examine it better. When he realized what kind of gun it was, he closed his eyes and let his chin drop to his chest. He looked up and over at Jules who caught the look of concern. She walked over to him just as Ed Lane came running up the lot from the street. He slowed down when he saw what was happening. Greg stood up as Ed and Jules joined him.

"Boss?" Jules spoke tentatively. She and Ed could almost feel the waves of tension now radiating from the team sergeant.

Greg didn't respond. He just looked sadly at the officer still trying to save the young boy's life.

"Greg," Ed tried this time. "What is it?"

The sergeant looked at the two officers standing near him for a second. Nodding his head toward the weapon still on the ground he said softly, "It's an Airsoft gun."

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2:** Poor Spikey! Something tells me he is not going to handle this at all well. (That might be my muse, though!) What do you think? And, is the pacing still working for you?

So after the migraine yesterday, today I got hit with the first allergy attack of the year and then my husband, after going to his dad's to help find and fix a water leak, informed me I had an unrepairable gash in one of the tires on my car. Nearly 3 hours and $250 that we really didn't have later, at least I can get to work tomorrow. 2012 is off to a rip-roarin' start around here! Because it's back to work tomorrow, the updates will come a bit slower from here on in. (But, if you feed the muse with reviews, I can guarantee you, they will come!) -_** Psy**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own it.

**Author's Note**: As always, thanks so much to everyone reading, and especially to those reviewing! My muse was well fed and as a result, here's Chapter 3. The pacing seems a little slower to me in this, but it might just be me. Let me know what you think.

Sergeant Greg Parker and Officers Ed Lane and Jules Callaghan stood a few feet away from their teammate who knelt next to the shooting victim still desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from the gaping chest wound. The headlights of the SRU vehicle cut through the pitch-black night to illuminate the tableau.

Greg looked positively ill as he took in the sight of his junior officer valiantly fighting to keep the boy alive. For a second, Ed and Jules both thought they had misheard their boss. They looked stunned with mouths gaping in disbelief.

Ed was the first to find his voice. "Airsoft?" It was really more statement than question. He, too, looked over at their friend.

Greg mentally kicked himself as he realized that their mics were still on. He quickly turned his off and made a slicing motion at his neck to signal the other two to turn theirs off as well. He then motioned them over to the other side of the SUV to ensure their friend and teammate couldn't hear them.

"Oh my God!" Jules exclaimed sotto voce. "A kid with a pellet gun. SIU's going to have a field day," she spoke just loud enough so the two men could hear her. "And, the press…" her eyebrows disappeared under her bangs as she left that thought to hang.

Ed shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said forcefully. "A weapon was raised at an officer and the fact that it's a kid and it's a toy… It doesn't matter, Greg," he continued.

"SIU..."

Greg cut him off. "SIU's not who I'm worried about, Eddie." He looked his team leader in the eye. "You're right, two cops were shot, including Spike, and a security guard was killed. Both subjects were fleeing together when Spike was hit and when the subject was shot. There's enough justification for lethal force here." He took a shaky breath before continuing. "SIU's not going to obsess about a toy gun.

"But, Spike?" Greg whispered.

"Do we know that it was Spike who shot him? Maybe it was Raf?" Jules asked. "Not that I would wish it on him, either." She shot a sideways glance at the team leader as she spoke.

The three exchanged another look as Ed fished his cell phone out of a pocket and quickly punched in a speed dial number.

"Raf," he said, "you and Sam switch to channel 4." Ed ended the call, switched his mic back on, and changed the channel as Greg and Jules did the same. Once they were all ready, Ed posed the question.

"Raf," he asked, his eyes never leaving his sergeant's, "who shot the subject over here. Was it you, was it Spike or was it both of you?"

The rookie's response was immediate. "I never got a shot off. Spike was too close to my line of fire and in front of me. Didn't want to risk hitting him while we were still moving."

"Okay. What's your twenty?" Ed asked him.

"Back lot at 163 Bridgeland."

"Any sign of the other subject?

"Negative," Raf replied.

Before anyone could comment further, an ambulance pulled up near the SUV, the two EMTs hustling to unload their gear and get to the victim. The three SRU officers watched in silence for a moment while one of the technicians tried to move the officer still bent over the now motionless form on the ground.

"Sir," the technician tried to engage Spike, "we'll take it from here, sir."

When Scarlatti didn't respond, the technician placed one hand over Spike's blood covered hands and the other on his good shoulder.

"Sir! You need to step back and let us do our job."

With a heavy sigh, Parker walked slowly over to his still kneeling explosives and tech expert. He knelt down beside him and gently pulled Spike's right arm away from the injured boy. He leaned over so he could catch Spike's eye and when he finally did, it nearly broke his heart to see the guilt that even now threatened to overtake the young man.

"Come on, Spike," Greg spoke softly as he slowly stood. Lifting the other man up with him, Greg quietly led him over to the SUV. He was surprised at how little resistance Spike offered now that he had gotten him away from the scene. In the beams of the headlights, Greg and the others noted the slumped shoulders and stiff, mechanical gait and they knew their friend was taking the situation as badly as expected.

While the EMTs worked on the boy, Greg looked at Spike's shoulder, trying to assess the damage. Ed walked over to him while Jules retrieved the first-aid kit from the SUV. Between the three of them, they were able to get his MP5, tactical gear and vest off before a second ambulance arrived. As the second pair of EMTs gathered their gear, Greg and Ed carefully removed Spike's uniform shirt to get a better look at the wound. All the while, they tried to engage him, asking if he was okay, if he could move his arm, anything to get him talking. They all realized that the longer he remained silent, the harder it would be for him to deal with the situation. When all of their efforts failed to elicit any response, their apprehension increased exponentially. Knowing that SIU would want a clean chain of custody, Jules donned a pair of gloves and then took Spike's rifle and sidearm along with his tactical gear, vest and shirt and bagged each separately. By then, the EMTs were ready to attend to the injured officer.

"_Boss_," Kira's voice came over the radio, "_The uni's dispatched to the Collins home found Mrs. Collins asleep and the boys missing. I'm sending photos out to you now_."

Greg nodded, "Missing?" He shared a meaningful look with his tactical leader as they stepped aside to let the EMTs work on Spike's shoulder. "Okay, thanks, Kira. What do we know about the Collins boys? Any trouble at school, run ins with the law?"

"_Checking. I'll get back to you_."

"Boss," Jules spoke in a guarded tone, nodding the two men over to where she stood at the back of the SUV. When they had gathered around her, she held up her PDA showing them the photograph of thirteen-year-old Peter Collins.

"Shit!" breathed Greg as he looked over at the boy still being treated by the first pair of EMTs.

"What?" Ed asked in confusion. He hadn't gotten a good look at the boy Spike had shot and so did not make the connection.

Jules looked up at him for a second before glancing over at the EMTs a few feet away.

"Wait," whispered Ed, "that's the kid Spike shot?"

Jules nodded, her lips drawn into a thin, tense line.

"So, what then? You thinking the other subject is the older brother?"

"Probably, Ed," Greg agreed. "And, he's probably the one who did most of the shooting here tonight."

"Sam! Raf!" Ed barked into his radio mic, "what's your status?"

"No joy," called out Sam.

"No sign of the other subject," replied Raf. "We're heading back to your location."

"We checked the entire block," Sam added. "He either doubled back or snuck through the cordon somehow."

"Jules," Greg looked over at her, "check with Sergeant Davis. See if any of the unis spotted him."

She nodded, "On it." She turned and walked a few steps away while pulling her cell phone out of a pocket and putting it to her ear after dialing.

The first two EMTs had been working desperately to stabilize Petey Collins. They noted that Spike had applied a quick blood-clotting agent try to slow down the blood loss and they started CPR when they could no longer detect the boy's pulse. As quickly as possible, they placed him on the stretcher and loaded it into the ambulance. Within minutes, they were heading back out toward the street and soon were speeding off to St. Michael's hospital.

"_Okay, Boss_," Kira began, "_I've got some info on the Collins boys_."

"All right, Kira," replied Greg, "what've you got?"

"_Cliff Collins, nineteen, dropped out of Central Technical School two years ago. He's got a rap sheet, mostly petty theft, marijuana possession, a couple misdemeanor assaults, nothing really major. According to the officer from 51 Division who spoke with his mother, Cliff has ties to DeShawn Stanley, leader of a gang called the King Street Disciples_," reported the dispatcher.

"What about the younger brother?" Greg asked.

"_Peter Collins, goes by 'Petey,' is an eighth-grader at Nelson Mandela Park Public School_," answered Kira. "_Not exactly a standout, but decent enough grades, plays basketball and baseball, no juvenile record, no apparent gang ties other than his brother_."

Greg checked his watch before looking up at Ed. "2:30 AM," he said, "What are the chances anyone from Guns and Gangs is working right now?"

Ed shrugged. "I don't know if he's working right now, but I know someone who'll at least answer the phone."

"Call him. See if he has any information on Cliff Collins, DeShawn Stanley or the King Street Disciples, or if he can get us in touch with someone who does."

Greg turned his attention back to his injured officer. The EMTs treating him had walked him over to the ambulance. Spike was now sitting on the back bumper of the bus, the left sleeve of his t-shirt having been cut away while one of the EMTs bandaged his wounded shoulder. The team sergeant approached the ambulance, his gaze narrowing as he noted Spike staring straight ahead, his expression devoid of any emotion, even as the med tech tightened the bandages wrapped around his upper arm. It appeared that Spike had completely shut down emotionally, as Greg had feared he would.

He spoke to the EMT as he stopped just in front of Spike. "How is he?" he asked.

The technician looked over his shoulder at the sergeant. "It's a through-and-through," he said. "Can't tell if it hit any bone or not, but ligament damage is likely. He needs to go to hospital for stitches, x-rays and an MRI to determine the extent of the injury."

Ed stood several feet away and watched as his boss approached the ambulance and spoke with the EMT. He had already pulled out his cell phone and he quickly hit another speed dial number before placing the phone up to his ear. He continued to watch the technician reply to Greg as he listened to the phone ring. His mind tried to conjure what the EMT was saying. He knew it had to do with how badly Spike's shoulder was hurt. There had been enough blood to make it difficult to assess when he and Greg had looked at it and Ed could only imagine the damage that had been done. He recalled the nearly devastating arm injury he himself had sustained after being shot seven times and he hoped and prayed that his friend wouldn't have to go through what he had endured during his own recovery. Though he had to admit that with Spike, the physical injury likely would be nothing compared to the emotional toll this incident would take on the young man.

"_Hello_?" a groggy voice came through the phone. Ed was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed it.

"_Who is this_?"

Ed finally snapped out of his reverie. "Wordy," he started to speak before being cut off.

"_Ed_?" his friend squinted at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. "_It's 2:30 in the morning. Is everything okay? What's going on_?" he quietly asked as he sat up in bed, trying not to disturb his wife asleep next to him.

"Yeah, listen buddy, I'm sorry to wake you this time of night, but we could really use your help here," Ed winced.

Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, Wordy's feet fished for his slippers on the floor. Finding them, he slipped them on as he stood and padded softly out into the darkened hallway. He spoke softly as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

"_What do you need_?"

"We've got a nineteen-year-old kid who shot two cops and killed a security guard." Ed informed his former teammate. "According to 51 Division, he's got ties to the King Street Disciples."

"_And, you're looking for information on either the Disciples or DeShawn Stanley, right_?" surmised Wordy.

"And, that's why you're the rising star of Guns and Gangs," Ed smiled for a second before turning serious. "Listen, buddy, Spike was one of the ones shot tonight and it's kinda complicated," he said. "Anything you can give us would be great."

"_Spike?_" Ed instantly heard the concern in his friend's voice. "_Is he okay?_"

The team leader paused a second before answering. "He took one in the shoulder that missed his vest. Greg's talking to the EMT now." He took a breath as if to continue, but remained silent.

"_Okay, yeah, um… I don't have any files with me here at home_," Wordy spoke hesitantly. "_But, I think I can log into the department computers from here. It's going to take me a few minutes, though_." It was his turn to pause. He could sense his friend was holding something back.

"_What is it you're not telling me, Ed_?" he asked as he moved into the living room and turned on first a desk lamp and then the family computer.

"Spike shot one of the two subjects we were looking for, maybe two minutes after he was shot."

Wordy was silent as he took in the information. As far as he knew, Spike had never shot a subject in the line of duty, at least he never had the whole time he was a member of the SRU. And, though Spike might be the most sensitive member of Team One, he understood that lethal force was sometimes necessary and it didn't sound like there was any question that it was in this case.

"_Okay, what _else_ aren't you telling me, Eddie?_" Wordy asked, convinced there was more to the story, given his friend's hesitation and the stress detected in his voice.

Ed sighed heavily before answering. "The subject Spike shot," he said slowly, "is a thirteen-year-old kid, armed with a pellet gun."

"_Damn_," whispered Wordy, bringing his hands up to rub his face. He knew how badly he or Ed would take something like that, and they would take it badly. But, it would kill Spike. He remained silent while the computer booted up. When it finally did, he placed his hands over the keyboard and started typing.

"_Okay_," he said, "_I'm logging in now; just give me a couple more minutes_."

Cliff Collins hugged the shadows as he zigzagged through the industrial area, trying to avoid the cops and making his way further north and east, opposite the direction he and Petey had been traveling before the cops had shot at them. The nineteen-year-old could barely think, his mind a jumble of thoughts and images. The thought occurred to him that he should just stop. He couldn't be sure if his brother was dead or alive and he had to find out. He couldn't go home and face his mother without knowing. Cliff had heard the shots just behind him as he had run between the building and the fence line. Maybe the cops had missed and Petey just stopped running. Maybe they arrested his brother. He couldn't remember hearing his brother going down. He couldn't remember hearing any shouting after the shots either. All he could remember was thinking that he had to keep running.

When he made it to the far northeast corner of the industrial area, Cliff was faced with a tough choice. He still hadn't seen another police officer, but he knew if he crossed Dufferin Street to the east, it would put him at the shopping centre. He knew he couldn't go south or west, because the cops were probably still crawling all over the place. He figured his only choice was to go north, which meant that he had to cross the 401, eighteen lanes of expressway, including the on and off ramps and collector lanes. He would be exposed the whole way across, but he thought that given the hour, his chances were better than risking exposure by the shopping centre, which he figured was probably patrolled, even this late at night.

Cliff took the gamble and hopped the last fence separating him from the expressway. Looking carefully to the left and seeing no cars coming, he ran as fast as he could across the two-lane off-ramp. He stopped for a second look as he approached the right shoulder of the eastbound collector lanes. Light posts at regular intervals illuminated the highway and he quickly hunched down as he saw two pairs of headlights coming closer to him. After they passed and he made sure no other cars were coming, he ran across the three lanes to the first concrete divider. He looked to his right and almost climbed over the concrete wall and stepped out onto the roadway, before he had to remind himself that the traffic on the other side of this divider was traveling in the same direction as the lanes he'd just crossed. He looked to his left and, seeing no cars, he climbed over the wall and ran for the center divider, repeating the process on the other side until he found himself safely on the north side of the expressway. His entire body was shaking with adrenaline by the time he made his way to the tree line at the northern edge and he walked east until he found a tree he could climb to get over the high fence separating the highway and the subdivision just to the north.

As he made his way through the backyard he'd jumped into, he tried to think of a plan. He couldn't go home, not without Petey. He couldn't go to D, not without the drugs, which he hadn't had a chance to get. Cliff cursed the security guard who had caught them in the repo yard. If that damn rent-a-cop hadn't come along, he and Petey would be home by now. D would have his stinking drugs and he would be worry-free. He started to stress again, thinking about Petey and what D would do to him when he found out Cliff had lost his drugs.

Cliff found a locked car sitting in a driveway and, desperate to get out of there, he took the screwdriver he always carried and smashed the driver side window, wiping the broken glass off the seat before sliding in and popping the ignition to expose the wiring. Within a minute or so, he had the car running and was peeling out of the driveway and then out onto Dufferin Street. Heading east on the 401, Cliff drove at the posted speed so as not to attract any undue attention.

**A/N**: Okay, so now we know it was just Spike who shot the kid and, yeah, he's taking it about as well as we would expect him to. And, yay, I managed to work Wordy in there! All hail the muse!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: You should know by now that I don't own Flashpoint, or much of anything at all, really.

**Author's Note**: Thanks to everyone who read and especially for the great feedback from those of you who reviewed! It helps keeps me going. For some reason, this was a really tough chapter for me to write and I'm not entirely convinced I like it; I'm not sure how well the SIU interview works, and the pacing seems off. You'll have to let me know if it works for you or not.

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><p>Cliff drove the 401 east to the Don Valley Parkway, taking the longer way home so he could stay off the surface streets where there was a better chance of being seen by cops. About half-an-hour later, he got off the parkway and eventually abandoned the stolen car several blocks northwest of his home and walked the rest of the way, keeping as much to the shadows as possible. As he neared his apartment building, he noticed a police cruiser parked on the street in front, stopping him in his tracks. He immediately turned around and walked back the way he'd come, desperately trying to come up with a Plan B.<p>

Ed Lane stood by his boss' SUV, cell phone pressed to his ear while he watched his boss, Sergeant Greg Parker, talk to an EMT who was treating his friend and teammate for a gunshot wound in his shoulder. He had called his former teammate and best friend, Kevin "Wordy" Wordsworth, now with the Guns and Gangs unit, for information that might help them find the young man who had shot their fellow officer and was waiting for Wordy to get that information.

Jules Callaghan had stepped away to call the North York PD sergeant who was assisting with their search and she now returned to the other two SRU officers who stood a few feet away from Ed at the back of the SUV. She turned her radio mic on and informed the team that Sergeant Davis had reported no further sightings of the subject, which meant that Cliff Collins had gotten through the police cordon and had indeed escaped.

Ed took in Jules' information without comment and continued to watch as the team sergeant got an update on Spike's condition from the medical technician. Ed saw the Sarge nod to the tech who was fitting a sling around Scarlatti's wounded left arm. He was just helping their friend to his feet when a dark colored sedan pulled up and came to a stop in the industrial lot. Two men in suits got out of the car. One of the men was Metro PD Inspector Stainton. The other, Ed recognized as agent Blair Kowalski of the Special Investigations Unit.

The two men made their way over to the SUV and spoke to the three officers standing there. Ed heard them ask for the boss and explain that they would need to speak with the subject officer as well as any witness officers. Ed watched as Sam nodded toward the sergeant who was now leading Spike over to the group. Though he wanted to continue listening in on the conversation a few feet away from him, Ed had to focus on his cell phone call instead as Wordy came back on the line.

"_Okay_," he began, "_DeShawn Stanley, 25 years old, formed the King Street Disciples just three years ago. Looks like they're an offshoot of the Moss Park crew. Stanley started out with them when he was 15 and quickly rose up the ranks to become one of the lieutenants running the gang. He was in charge of the heroin trade and guns in the neighborhood_."

Ed Lane nodded though he knew his friend couldn't see him. "So, he manages to split with Moss Park and start his own gang? How does that happen?" he asked.

"_Three years ago, Stanley and another Moss Park lieutenant, Anton Dvorjic, both tried to take over after the leader was killed in a drive-by. They fought over leadership of the crew until Stanley left with a small corps of Moss Park soldiers. He moved farther southeast and set up shop down on King Street East,_" Wordy informed him.

"_Word is Stanley's a real badass. Some even think he's the one who contracted the drive-by as a power play. He has a reputation for eliminating snitches and anyone who steals from his operations._"

"Okay, what about a Clifford Collins? You got anything on him?" asked Ed.

Wordy typed the name into a search window. "_Clifford Collins, nineteen-years-old, lives at 122 Mill Street, apartment 44. Started running with the King Street Disciples a little over two years ago. Looks like he was recruited by DeShawn Stanley himself. He was wanted in connection with an assault about six months ago. According to the police report, he beat a sixteen-year-old with a pipe, almost killed him, but it didn't stick; no one in the neighborhood would ID him. The case is still open, though._"

"Wordy," Ed asked, "you got an address on DeShawn Stanley?"

His friend checked the file carefully. "_Yep_," he answered, "_last known address is 370 King Street East, apartment 12._"

"Okay. Listen, I'm really sorry for waking you up," Ed apologized, "but, thanks, buddy."

"_Hey, no worries_," replied Wordy, "_I just hope Spike's okay. And, tell him_…" he sighed, "_just tell him I'm here_," he said, recalling the offer to listen Spike had given him the night everything had changed for him and the team so many months ago.

"You got it, Wordy. Good night."

"_Yeah, you, too_."

Ed ended the call and quickly made another one before pocketing his phone and turning his attention back to the inspector and SIU agent. Jules had handed over Spike's bagged weapons and gear, which Stainton and Kowalski placed in the trunk of the sedan while Spike and Raf got in the back seat. Ed noted that Spike's expression hadn't changed. He walked over to the three remaining team members as the sedan left the back lot.

"Greg" he addressed the team sergeant, "how's Spike?"

"Hey, Eddie," Greg replied, weariness evident in his voice, "he's got a through-and-through, but he's going to need x-rays and an MRI when he's done with SIU," he informed the rest of the team, avoiding the real question in the team leader's eyes.

"And?" Ed pressed.

"And, he's still not talking, Eddie." The assembled team shared a concerned look. All four of them had at one time or another during their careers had to use lethal force, so they all knew what their teammate was facing psychologically. But, none of them had ever shot a minor in the line of duty. They could only imagine the level of guilt Spike would be feeling.

"Was Wordy able to give you anything we can use?" Greg asked.

Ed nodded, relaying the information he'd gotten from their former teammate.

"So, it sounds like this DeShawn Stanley isn't someone Cliff Collins would want to cross," Greg surmised.

Jules shook her head. "There's something we're missing here," she said. "Why would Cliff Collins and his little brother break into their mother's repossessed car in the middle of the night?"

"And, what does it have to do with DeShawn Stanley and the King Street Disciples?" asked Sam.

"Well," offered Ed, "maybe there's something in the car that they wanted."

"Or needed," added Jules.

"Something that belonged to Stanley, maybe?" Sam supposed.

Greg shook his head. "We need more information."

Silence reigned inside the sedan as it traveled along the darkened city streets, the streetlights highlighting the faces of the four men staring out their respective windows. Raf sat in the back seat watching the homes and businesses passing by as they made their way south toward the city center. Every now and then, he would glance over to his left, hoping to catch his partner's eye so he could gauge how the other man was holding up. However, Spike never turned his head; he simply stared unseeingly out the other window.

They were nearing the halfway mark when the oppressive silence got the better of Raf. He turned to his teammate again.

"Spike," he whispered, hazarding a quick glance at the two agents in the front seat. He was rewarded with a sideways glance from the other SRU officer just as Inspector Stainton looked back at them through the rear-view mirror.

"You okay, Spike?" asked Raf quietly. He glanced up front again and saw Stainton watching the two of them.

It was several seconds before Spike answered. "I shot a kid," he spoke miserably. "Would you be okay with that, Raf?"

The newest member of Team One swallowed hard. He had had a tough time dealing with his first lethal shot not that long ago and he had felt completely justified. He had been forced to shoot a terrorist that had taken a plane full of people hostage. The woman had raised her handgun at him after Team One had re-taken the plane and Raf had had no choice but to take her out. But, those terrorists had been adults, not kids.

"It's not your fault, man," he told Spike.

"Officer Rousseau," warned Stainton with a shake of his head.

Raf pursed his lips and turned back to his friend. Spike just shook his head and went back to staring out the side window with no further comment. The silence returned and stayed for the rest of the drive to SIU headquarters.

When they arrived, the two agents retrieved the evidence from the trunk and, after stopping at another office to retrieve the current case file and transcripts, led the officers to an upper floor and then down a couple corridors. Eventually, Stainton and Kowalski stopped at a pair of doors on opposite sides of the hallway. Inspector Stainton opened one of the doors and motioned inside.

"Officer Rousseau," he waved the young officer into the small conference room. With a look at his friend, Raf turned and entered the room with Stainton following and closing the door behind them.

Agent Kowalski opened the other door and motioned Spike inside.

"Officer Scarlatti," he said.

Spike took a deep breath and stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the city lights and the CN Tower in the distance through the large window on the opposite wall. He might have thought the view striking if he had been in anything close to a normal state of mind, but as it was, he barely registered the fact that he was downtown.

Kowalski motioned him to the other side of the table that sat in the middle of the room.

"Have a seat, Officer Scarlatti," he said as he placed the evidence bags and then his briefcase on the table and opened it. He took out a legal pad and pen and placed them on the table next to the briefcase. He then took out two file folders and placed them on top of the legal pad before closing the briefcase and setting it on the floor next the table. He sat down and retrieved a pre-printed form from one of the file folders, checked his watch and started filling out the form, noting the time and other details he would need for his investigation. He then quickly read the case file and transcripts to familiarize himself with what had transpired.

After a few minutes, he was ready to start. He looked up at the SRU officer who still stood stiffly on the other side of the room. Truth be told, he felt bad for Scarlatti. Kowalski knew him by reputation only, but the man's reputation was almost beyond reproach; he had even been honored with an award for valor the previous year. With a mental sigh, Kowalski tamped down on his personal feelings and set his mind on getting his job done, as unpleasant as that job may be.

"Officer Scarlatti?" he tried to get the man's attention.

Slowly, Spike turned away from the window to look at him.

Glancing at the evidence bags and taking stock of what he already had, he gestured toward the SRU officer. "I'll need your boots and your pants," he said. "Do you have a change of clothes?"

Spike started to shake his head when the door opened and a brown-haired, balding and slightly pudgy man in a dark suit walked in. The man carried a file folder in one hand and a bag in the other, which he tossed onto the table.

"You weren't going to start without me again, were you, Blair?" the man asked with a glance at the SIU investigator.

He then turned to the half-uniformed officer. Extending his hand he said, "Frank McAndrew, I'm your attorney."

He shook Spike's hand and leaned in close to him. "Ed Lane called me; said you needed some help. You know you don't have to talk to this guy if you don't want to," he said conspiratorially. "Any question you don't want to answer, you just let me handle it, okay?" With a nod, he turned back to Kowalski.

"So, Blair," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "what are we looking at here?" He sat down opposite the SIU agent and opened the file folder he held. He, too, quickly got up to speed with what had happened as Spike bent down to remove the rest of his uniform. He moved slowly, stiffly as he fumbled to untie the laces using just his right hand. The same went with the button and zipper on the pants. With his arm in the sling, he could only do so much with it.

As Spike finally placed the pants on the table, McAndrew waved a hand at the bag. "Change of clothes for you, Scarlatti," he said, not taking his eyes off the document he was reading.

Spike pulled out the chair next to McAndrew and sat down to pull on his jeans. When he was once again fully dressed, he looked between the two other men and tried to keep his steadily rising anxiety from showing on his face. He had no idea what to expect, except that it wasn't going to be good. He knew that a cop shooting a kid under any circumstances was very bad.

"Okay," Kowalski began, looking over at Spike, "why don't you walk us through what happened tonight, Officer Scarlatti?"

"Come on, Blair," McAndrew spoke before Spike had a chance to react. "We've both read the transcript just now. You've got it right there in front of you," he said. "Do you really need him to go through it step by step?"

"SRU was called in to search for two gunmen after a security guard and a North York Police officer were reported shot. The security guard was dead," Spike spoke in a low monotone. "Officer Rousseau and I were searching a back lot when we came across two subjects matching the description of the gunmen. We identified ourselves as SRU and ordered the two subjects to drop their weapons and surrender. Instead, as the two subjects fled, they fired two shots at Officer Rousseau and myself. I was hit in the shoulder, but continued pursuit."

He took a breath, "We chased them around an outbuilding and one of them turned and raised his weapon to shoot again. I fired my MP5, hitting the subject twice in the chest."

He paused, hanging his head and closing his eyes for a moment. When he continued, his voice was thick with emotion. "I didn't find out until afterward that the subject was a kid," he said softly. "When I did, I immediately called for EMS and administered first-aid."

The attorney and SIU agent had been silent during Spike's monologue. When the officer was silent for a couple of minutes, McAndrew turned to the SIU agent.

"Clearly, force was necessary and Officer Scarlatti did everything he could to save the kid," he said.

"Except he shot the kid," Kowalski pointed out.

"Because the kid was going to shoot him. Again, I might add!"

"The kid had a pellet gun, Frank!"

"Scarlatti couldn't have known that!" McAndrew replied.

Kowalski turned to Scarlatti, "What exactly did you see just before you fired your weapon?" he asked.

Spike thought back for a moment. "He was just turning the corner around the building," he said slowly. "I couldn't see his face; he had the hood up to cover it and he was mostly in shadow. But, I could see his arm come up and he pointed his gun right at me."

"Can you describe the gun he had?" asked Kowalski.

"It was all black," replied Spike. "Semi-automatic; it looked like a standard size Glock."

"You didn't see any orange on the tip of the gun?"

Spike shook his head. "It was all black," he reiterated. "Like I said, it looked exactly like a Glock."

McAndrew laid his hands out on the table, palms up. "See? It looked exactly like a real gun," he said pointedly. "Scarlatti did what he had to do to protect himself and his partner. Are we done here?"

"Not so fast, Frank," the SIU agent shook his head as he consulted the transcript again. He looked up at the focus of his investigation again.

"Officer Scarlatti," he said, "you stated that when you first came across the two subjects, you and Officer Rousseau identified yourselves as SRU and you ordered them to drop their weapons, is that correct?"

Spike nodded, wondering where the man was going with this. "That's right," he said.

Kowalski nodded back. "Okay, when you saw the subject raise his gun, right before you shot him," he paused and looked directly in Spike's eyes, "did you again order him to put the weapon down? Did you warn him that you would shoot him if he didn't?"

Spike sucked in a breath and felt his eyes widen with the realization that he indeed hadn't ordered the weapon down right before taking the shot. He turned to his attorney with a pleading look. McAndrew virtually pounced on the investigator.

"He didn't have to!" he nearly shouted in exasperation. Kowalski sat back with an 'are you kidding me?' look on his face.

The attorney shook his head and stood up. Placing both hands on the table in front of Kowalski, he leaned down to look him in the eye.

"These thugs had already shot three people, including Officer Scarlatti!" he argued. "One of those three people was killed. Officer Scarlatti had already ordered these dirt bags to lower their weapons and surrender. He was in no way obligated to do so again." McAndrew sat down in a huff.

Unperturbed, Kowalski continued questioning Spike.

"Officer Scarlatti," he looked again at the officer. "Did your commanding officer give you the order to shoot the subject?"

"Again," McAndrew jumped in immediately, "he didn't need it!" He waved a hand at the file folders in front of the SIU agent.

"Get the use of force wheel out. The subject was in Red Condition," he continued. "An explicit order to shoot was not necessary for Officer Scarlatti to take appropriate action to protect himself and his partner."

Kowalski took out a sheet of paper showing the various threat conditions and the appropriate responses the SRU officers were trained to use. He placed it on the table in front of Spike.

McAndrew waved his hand at Scarlatti. "Go on, show him," he insisted. When Spike pointed to the top threat level, labeled and colored Red, which listed imminent danger to a hostage or police officer, the attorney stood up and started gathering his things.

"We're done," he stated matter-of-factly. He turned to Spike who still sat looking somewhat bewildered between the two men.

"Come on," Frank gestured toward the officer, "I'll give you and Rousseau a ride."

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><p><strong>AN**: So, there you have it, Spike made it through his SIU interview. I wanted to make the SIU stance a little harder, but I guess I'm just a bit sympathetic to Spike! Thanks again for reading and let me know what you think. - _**Psy**_


End file.
